


What really happened in Steyliff Grove

by FanGirlMiv



Series: Dragoon babies [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Prequel, Romance, Steyliff Grove, Unreliable narrator!Ignis, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGirlMiv/pseuds/FanGirlMiv
Summary: Go to place. Get mythril. Leave. Oh, look, its Ardyn. And he's arrange for an escort. Oh, the escort is the nice lady that beat us up. Okay, great chance to study her fighting style. In a purely professional way... Ignis might not be so perceptive as he thinks he is. This is the prequel to "Warping what??".





	What really happened in Steyliff Grove

**Author's Note:**

> How did Ignis and Aranea do the dirty deed in Steyliff Grove? I have literally been trying to finish this fic for 6 months! I kid not! Not beta'ed.

As dismayed as Ignis is to spot the likeness of Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, the puce-haired weasel himself, just as pleased is he to find out that their “escort” will be the silver-haired woman that they fought at Fort Vaullerey. She has been on his mind more than he cares to admit (and so he has spoken naught about her at all), especially considering the rather blunt comments regarding her “assets” that has been coming from both Gladiolus and Prompto. Ignis is no prude, but those two hormonal dunderheads would no doubt reroute his speculations in decidedly distracting directions. Yes, she is “smokin’ hot”, he is not blind, but that does not make her any less of a treat.

As the Chancellor makes the introductions, Ignis mentally tallies his facts. Aranea Highwind, mercenary turned Imperial Commodore, and a prodigy with the lance. Ignis is a lance-wielder himself, and he knows with some vanity that he is better than most. The Commodore’s mastery, however, is on another level. He is not above admitting to being somewhat jealous. Based on her fighting style, he has surmised that she is probably a Dragoon, a rare class of fighters specializing in aerial movements and fighting primarily with polearms. Dragoons are not native to Insomnia and Ignis does not have much information to go on. He’s tentatively tried to emulate some of her moves, and falling frustratingly short.

He’s quite sure there’s magic or tech, or mix of both, at work. Dragoons are rumored to wield their own variety of elemental magic and she was able to fight eye to eye with Noctis, staying airborne and countering the King move for move. She was a match for the four of them, loathe as he is to admit it. He could still vividly recall her slightly mocking tone as she forfeited the fight.

There is no guarantee they will emerge unharmed from another skirmish, and he was grateful for this change to interact with her, and possibly learn more about her fighting style. And how to counter it, most importantly.

Especially since buying her off is out of the question, given their financial situation.

So, all things considered, the proposed arrangement are two tentative birds in their hand, despite the looming shadow of Chancellor Izunia and his no doubt nefarious plans.  

Beggars cannot be choosers. But they can still be wary of the hand that feeds them.

“I trust you’ll be civil. Commodore Aranea Highwind, I leave them to you,” the Chancellor says, interrupting his speculations. With a flourish of his hat, the Chancellor takes his leave.

“So, special training…” Aranea Highwind says after a tense moment of silence, arms crossed. She looks them up and down with a sardonic mien.

She truly is a striking woman, especially as she is without the spiky, somewhat ridiculous helmet. Though of average height, her slender frame exudes confidence and strength, and her silver hair, a shade he has never seen before, only makes her stand out even more. He wonders if the silver, unless it’s an expert dye-job, is a clue to her origins. He’s never seen hair like that before, and Dragoons are said to originate from somewhere beyond the Imperial Continent. Intriguing, indeed.

“Look, we don’t want any trouble –“ Noctis begins.

“Relax, none taken,” the Commodore interrupts. “As I said, this is your show. I’m getting my gil and the rest is none of my business.”

“Okay, that sounds alright, I guess,” Noctis says, looking sideways at Ignis, who nods discreetly.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Now that the Chancellor has deprived us of his delightful company, let’s get this show on the road. It’s pretty clear that this is to be no ordinary training excursion, your Majesty.”

“Just call me Noctis,” Noctis says tightly. He’s not at all comfortable with the title, and Ignis is grateful when Prompto cuts in.

“Hey, don’t forget about us plebs,” he exclaims. 

“I see you, sunshine,” the Commodore says, turning her attention to Prompto. Predictably, he grins from ear to ear. Noctis and Ignis both roll their eyes behind his back.

“Commodore Highwind,” Ignis begins, trying to get the situation back on track.

She laughs and shakes her head. “First of all, drop the formalities, I’m not your commanding officer. You are the damned opposition. As I see it, I’m here to make sure you get your asses and your loot out of that dungeon in one piece, and that’s it.”

“Might we try an overture of teamwork? It will no doubt make for more effective fighting,” Ignis points out, looking over the Commodores shoulder and into the looming darkness of the dungeon’s entrance. He would like the chance to ask her a few cautious questions, but this is hardly the time or place.

“Sure thing, Four-Eyes, I can do teamwork,” she replies, her voice not exactly hostile. Ignis nearly corrects her, but stops himself. Aranea Highwind likes her nicknames and he doesn’t think he can make her change her style of address. So, Four-Eyes it is. He’s heard worse.

He sighs and reminds himself that is only going to be a brief acquaintance, in any case. Get the mythril, get out alive, and they’ll hopefully be on their way.

“Let’s gear up and move out, then,” Noctis says and Aranea holds up a hand.

“No can do. This place is built by Solheim. The dungeon only opens at night, so we have some hours to kill.” She indicates the clear, sunny sky. A collective moan of annoyance is uttered by Prompto and Noctis.

“I know you boys can fight,” she continues with a cheeky grin, that has Noct scratch the back of his head and Ignis frown slightly.

“How about a friendly sparring match? Would be good for that teamwork-thing and I can assess your skills. No way I am going into any daemon-infested ruin without knowing your limits.”

Despite her playful tone, this is clearly not up for discussion and Prompto nearly throws her a salute, hand quivering at his side. And Ignis? Ignis finds himself almost humming with anticipation. He has been mentally preparing for this ever since their first encounter. Aranea Highwind will undoubtedly be the most skilled adversary he will ever have the opportunity to spar against.

“A sparring-match would be welcome,” he agrees. Gladiolus leaving and subsequently meeting up with the Chancellor has them all on edge. Even Noctis has not even brought up fishing, even though the Vesperpool is but a stone’s throw away. A workout is needed.  

"You got your weapons?" she asks.

"Yeah, fully weaponized," Noctis says with a smirk, restored to cockiness, and Aranea looks him up and down and grins.

"Well, let’s get at it. C'mon, recruits, this way.”

Ignis cannot help but chuckle at her attitude. For a mere “escort” she is awfully bossy. She retrieves her helmet, and leads them away from the dungeon, towards the drier slopes.

“We cleaned out the oversized chickens when we set up camp so we’ll not get interrupted,” she explains.

“Do you have any of the meat left?” Ignis cannot help but ask, falling in step next to her. He has a recipe that incorporates poison fowl, and he is keen for a chance to try it out.

Aranea squints at him. Her eyes are dark green, like summer foliage, he notes.

“You do know they are smack full of toxins?” she says slowly.

“Of course. That's the beauty of it. Prepared in the right way, the components can be very beneficial.”

“If you say so…” she trails off, clearly not convinced.

"I assure you that my cooking is perfectly safe. And beneficial!" Ignis says indignantly. He can't help it. He takes a lot of pride in his cooking. And he's not used to being questioned on his skills.

"Okay, I believe you, Four-Eyes," she says breezily. "There should be some gobbets in storage, feel free to play house when we get back."

Ignis just nods stiffly, letting himself trail behind. Prompto is more than willing to take his place, pulling out his camera and showing it off to the Commodore.

Aranea Highwind is obviously smart, candid and somewhat of a potty-mouth, and Ignis decides on the spot that he's going to outdo himself with dinner tonight and show her wrong. The recipe called for the leg of a chick, but he might have to improvise, depending on what is available, and he is sure he has the rest of the ingredients – he's brutally booted out of the mental kitchen when Prompto grabs his arm and pulls him to the side. Suddenly, he finds himself squeezed in between Noctis and – Astrals help him – Aranea, as Prompto wastes no time making himself comfortable on the Commodore's other side and extends his arm.

“Cheese, guys!" the blond paparazzi yells, and Ignis looks at the camera and smiles, a pavlovian conditioning resulting from weeks of traveling with Prompto. There's a fast series of clicks and Prompto lowers the camera and looks excitedly at the LCD-display.

"Hey, this one is pretty good," he says and holds up the camera for them to see.

To Ignis’ surprise, Aranea leans in and looks at the camera with interest.

"Not bad, sunshine," she says, "but I'm easy on the lens – I don't have any bad sides," she goes on, tossing on her head so her multitude of tiny ponytails fly about her head, shining like silver in the sunlight.

"Man, I completely agree, I mean look at your cheekbones –" Prompto joins in excitedly, his inner photographer coming out in full force. Aranea shakes her head and straightens.

"At ease, recruit. I think we better get the training kicked off," she says gruffly, though be eyes twinkle.

Prompto nods, blushing a bit and fumbles with his camera, quickly deconjuring it.

"That is rather _impromptu_ ," Ignis cannot help but admonish. Aranea looks at him, and snorts.

"Give a gal a warning next time," she mutters, and then turns around and suddenly her lance is in her hand and she brandishes it at them, and for one terrible moment Ignis thinks that she will skewer them (is his pun truly that bad?), that this is some sort of horribly convoluted trap.

"You, Prompto, wanna go first?" Aranea grins and the moment deflates like a soufflé gone wrong.

They are standing in an area relatively free of rocks and large vegetation, and the ground looks level. A good place to spar, he realizes.

Aranea points her lance at Prompto, who gulps and then runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I'm up for it," he says and walks forward with an exaggerated strut.

“A moment, if you please,” Ignis says, raising a hand. Prompto stops, looking back at him, and Aranea tilts her head.

“Yes, Four-Eyes?”

“Rules of engagement for this … assessment?” he inquires.

She rolls her shoulders, and says in a slightly overbearing tone of voice. “How about first blood?”

First blood? Ignis stares at her.

“Hey, isn't that a bit barbaric?” Prompto exclaims.

“No way!” Noctis says with finality.

 “The king has spoken,” Aranea makes a mock bow and then snickers. “Close your mouths, recruits, got some nasty bugs around here with a fondness for dark, moist places.” Belatedly, Ignis realizes that she was not serious. An Imperial with a sense of humor? Fascinating.

“Eh, yes, I have,” Noctis makes an effort to sound regal, clearly confused about the Dragoon’s shift in attitude.

“No blood. Okay, it’s like this, fights continue until one part yields, by word or deed, and no interference from the outside. Spells prohibited. Is that acceptable, _gentle_ men?”

Ignis nods, that’s more or less the same rules imposed by the Crownsguard.

“Yeah. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Noctis says softly, and in that moment, Ignis have a very _adult_ moment with Aranea Highwind. He knows exactly what she is going to say, and it’s too harsh. He quickly captures and holds her gaze, and shakes his head. She frowns slightly and then, surprisingly, her eyes soften.

“No blood, I promise,” she says, and even sounds quite honest. She better be.

“I feel _so_ much safer now,” Prompto pipes in, sarcastically, or as close to sarcasm as Prompto can get, and Noctis pushes him forward with a grin. “Don’t worry, go show her what the men of Insomnia are made of,” and Aranea winks at the blond boy as she dons her helmet.

“I don't bite. Much.”

Apparently, the men of Insomnia are made of blushes.

He does put admirable effort into the fight, though. Being primarily a gunner, Prompto should have the advantage, if only he can keep his distance, but it turns out that Aranea is not only freakishly fast and maneuverable, she also possesses a shield technology that is devastatingly effective against single-source barrages. Ignis mentally notes this with a frown. He had observed that Aranea made good use of shielding, but he has not expected her to be able to focus the shield into a much smaller, and by extrapolation, much stronger, area, and certainly has not anticipated that she is able to move the focal point with such speed.

Prompto lasts less than two minutes. Aranea lets him get in a few shots, that simply _deflects_ off her, like they are mere pebbles, and when he pulls out the bioblaster, she jumps straight up, avoiding the poison easily and hurls her lance at him. It does Prompto honor that he does not panic and tries to take aim at her, though he should probably have concentrated on getting out of range, Ignis dryly notes as the impact of the lance knocks the blond boy down, and in flash, Aranea is standing above him, boot on his Adam's apple. Prompto just looks up at her with a silly grin because at that angle he can look straight up her legs, and Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose. Really, the boy can’t help it but Astrals, he could do with some self-restraint.

“Eyes down, recruit,” Aranea says dryly, and Prompto scrambles to get on his feet even before she removes her boot. Rubbing his bruised throat, he babbles out an excuse and beats a hasty retreat, hiding behind Noctis.

“Noct, do something,” he mouths, and gives the King a regular shove forward.

“Volunteering, _Noctis_?”

“I suppose so,” Noctis grounds out, shooting Prompto a _look_. A sword appears in Noctis’ hands in a shimmer of light and Ignis nods in approval as he recognizes the airstep sword. The sword’s ability to reduce Noct’s requirement for mana will certainly come in handy against a foe like Aranea.

“Hold that thought,” the Commodore says and then whips her head to the side, locking her eyes on Ignis. The advisor has been around enough military personnel to recognize that look; Cor comes to mind, all ruthless … ruthlessness, and he squares his jaw, reminding himself that he has been wanting to do this for a long time.

“Saving you for last, pretty boy,” she says. “I want a go at Four-Eyes first.”

“Saving the best for last,” Noctis retorts with a slight preen.

Aranea huffs. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Ignis pushes his glasses up, and takes a deep breath, flexing his fingers. He has seen her in battle and he has analyzed her moves over and over, and even her brief match against Prompto has given him valuable information. He stands a chance if he can maneuver her just right…

Aranea inclines her head, and he steps forward, studying her stance and tries to keep his racing heart from showing. He has the uncomfortable feeling that Aranea is seeing right through him, reading his mind as easily as she reads his movements.

He pushes away the unease, focusing on the fight. The magic flows through him with the ease of practice, and the drain lance, newly upgraded, appears in his hand. He’s not completely comfortable with the weapon’s new range of traits, but it will have to do. He has chosen it for a specific reason, and only hopes that he is correct in his chosen strategy.

“Interesting choice,” Aranea notes with genuine interest. “Let’s see what it can do.”

She spins her own weapon in her hands, an imposing weapon of Niflheim make that Ignis cannot categorize beyond its ability to channel energy, and comes at him hard.

He deflects the first blow easily, the shafts of their weapons clashing loudly, and for a moment their eyes meet, before Ignis pushes back, doing a backflip and realizing his mistake even before his feet hit the ground. However, there is no metal in his guts, and Aranea is still in the same spot, smirking at him.

 _I’ll give you this one,_ she seems to say, and Ignis clenches his teeth. Unforgivable. He is on his own, and he better remember that from now on. No room for fancy maneuvers, this is back to basic.

They trade blows for several minutes and Ignis finds that he enjoys it immensely. He rarely spars against fighters specializing in polearms, and the constant need to push himself to his limit and beyond is exhilarating. He even manages to get in a near hit, dodging and sidestepping, and then doing a reverse thrust using the butt of the lance, nearly catching her in the side.

“Not bad, Four-Eyes,” she exclaims. From above him, and Ignis’ hits empty air, because Aranea is not there. She lands several yards away, touching down with an almost mocking lightness, and it is a stark reminded of her true range of abilities.

Ignis stands tall and grabs his lance with both hands. It's clear that he cannot beat Aranea in naked combat, she is simply too skilled. It irks him, loathe as he is to admit it. He can read an opponent much better than a person, and right now she is so smug Noctis is probably taking notes.

Seems he has to run the gauntlet.

He becomes more conservative, blocking and retreating rather than pressing the attack, even when she presents her unprotected flank to him, an obvious trap. She responds by intensifying her moves, turning into a mercurial storm that is both terrifying and exhilarating, and she plays right into his court. If only he can keep from getting killed.

He considers himself in descent fitness, but Aranea seems inexhaustible. He cannot help but wonder if she has been subject to magitech modifications, even though he can hardly equate the mindless drones with the vivacious woman fighting him.

When he yet again refuses to follow up on a series of attacks, Aranea’s annoyance is palpable.

She comes at him with a series of thrusts and spins that he barely manages to dodge, and lands a kick to his abdomen that he doesn't quite manage to dodge, her heel slamming into him, sending him reeling backwards, and then she is gone, taken to the air again and his skin prickles as the storm gathers. He can feel her coming down upon him like a bolt of lightning, and he must get this right, this is his only chance.         

He rolls to the side, just as Aranea _slams_ into the ground right next to him, activating the drain lance at the same time. He has on purpose not used the weapon’s special abilities before, as to not clue her into his intent.

The sudden tingling in his hand and up his arm are tell-tale signs of his assertion being correct – there’s elemental magic mixed into the Commodore’s energetic discharges, and quite a lot of it! The lance is fairly throbbing in his hand, the metal growing hot.

Willing himself to ignore the pain in his stomach, he jumps up, dismisses the lance and calls upon his daggers instead. Gripping the soothingly cold metal, he aims for her chest, the exposed patch above her décolletage.

Aranea Highwind lets out a growl and raises her arms, twisting her body at the same time. One dagger deflects on her metallic vambrace as she grabs his other wrist and manages to halt his attack. At the same time, she thrusts her head upwards, the black horn on her helmet slashing upwards.

Everything stops.

Both breathing heavily, they eye each other wearily. The blade mounted on the front of Aranea’s helmet jabs into the soft skin under Ignis’ jaw. The tip of his dagger is hovering above her chest, his hand locked in her vice-like grip.

He deconjures the dagger, accepting his defeat.

“Neat trick, Four-Eyes,” she declares, moving her head. Ignis scrambles backwards, rubbing his jaw. She’s nicked his skin, but as promised, there’s no blood.

“I must commend you on your skills, Commodore. You have me quite humbled.”

“Pish posh,” the Commodore says, getting to her feet and stretching. “You penetrated my defenses, didn’t you, and I’m the gold standard.” Then she winks at him, and Ignis, wrist smarting and stomach still on fire, has absolutely no idea how to reply.

Grinning, Aranea turns to the crowd and yells out: “You’re up, pretty boy!"

 _Astrals, what do they feed soldiers in Niflheim?_ Ignis wonders as he leaves the battlefield.

“Your face’s red,” Noctis remarks as he steps forward, and Ignis has a rare urge to throttle his king.

“It was a rather intense match,” he mutters. “Good luck.”

“Thank. I’m gonna need it.” 

“Wow, that is some show!” Prompto greets him, bumping his arm.

“I do prefer less painful ways of entertaining,” Ignis sighs. He pulls up his shirt, inspecting his stomach. He decides it’s not worth a potion but those heels are not to be taken lightly.           

“Hey, at least you managed to land a hit,” Prompto goes on, soothingly.

"Hedgehog's dilemma," Ignis muses, more to himself than anyone else, and doesn't notice Prompto's quizzical expression. 

They watch silently as Aranea runs the king through an aerial duel that proves that Aranea was right. Even though he is soon breathless and sweating, Noctis is able to hold his own against the Dragoon. Ignis feels a sudden surge of pride, as he watches Noctis’ training bearing fruit, and Aranea is visibly elated, grinning widely and even letting out an exhilarated outburst when Noctis manages to warp behind her and land a cut across her back that sends her reeling towards the ground. In the last instance, she gets her feet under her, and lands in a crouch. No doubt that she lives to fight, revels in using her powers.

Only a sight hesitation on Noctis’ behalf prevents him from taking the victory right there. The King is used to fighting as part of a quartet, and it’s clear that he is instinctively waiting for someone to follow up on his strike.

He gets his wits about him quick enough, but it’s a fatal error in a battle against an opponent like Aranea, and she is back up, advantage lost.

Ignis notes it with some regret. Clearly, they have been neglecting an obvious weakness in Noct’s skill set – that he might have to fight alone. He recalls his own error, and realizes it’s something they must correct for all of them.

Aranea holds up a hand. “I yield,” she says, and Noctis looks confused, but lowers his sword. Aranea takes off her helmet and gives them a broad smile. “This ol’ gal needs a break. Well fought, all of you. They really are something, those powers of yours. The might of the Kings of Lucis…"

Noctis runs a hand through his hair and looks away. "Thanks, I guess," he replies, a bit flustered.  

"Okay, boys, not so shabby. I even think you stand a good chance of getting your treasure by yourself,” she continues. “Makes you wonder why the Chancellor was so concerned about your success he had me chick-sit you.”

"So do we," Ignis echoes. He’s come to the somewhat baffling conclusion that there’s no trick or trap here. The Chancellor truly wants them to retrieve the mythril. Which is even more disconcerting than any trickery. Could the man be a traitor to the Empire? Ignis scoffs at the notion even as he frames it. The man is as slippery as a greased snake and as trustworthy as a hungry behemoth. He gives Ignis “the heebies-jeebies” as Prompto so succinctly puts it. He’ll let out a breath of relief when they are in Altissia and Noctis can meet up with Lady Lunafreya.

"Right now, I don’t care,” Noctis says plaintively. “We need that ore.”

Aranea nods. "I understand. Listen, I'll do my best to help you. The Chancellor is many things, but stingy is not one of them. I’m being paid too much to let you die."

 _What else to except from a former mercenary?_ Ignis thinks. He’s surprised how much her words disappoint him. After all, Commodore Aranea Highwind is only an ex-mercenary and enemy soldier. Hardly anyone he would want as a long-term associate.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew. Pointing our errors and issues much appreciated.


End file.
